


The World Can Change Its Heart

by Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace



Series: Home is Where the Heart Is [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Kinda, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pass it on, Pete Wentz is biracial, brief mention of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9243620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace/pseuds/Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace
Summary: He's usually good about keeping away from the Twitter drama, hell, he wasn't one to dabble on social media at all for that matter, Pete does enough of that for the both of them. However, this wasn't something he could easily sweep under the rug, to stand quietly on the side and watch Pete take it.“It takes a lot for me to get upset, it really does, but this just takes the cake...to attack someone for something so blatantly stupid to the point that they feel so self-conscious about their every move makes me sick... I know it’s not everyone doing this but sad to say that it's those few rotten apples that spoil the whole fucking bunch...Think before you comment or do your fucking research before you say shit.”#PeteWentzisBiracal #dealwithitOrRemember that one time in 2016 that the internet gave Pete shit for getting cornrows, so much so that he took them out? Yeah, this is based on that.





	

"So...I did something."

“What did you do?” Patrick didn’t look up, his attention focused on the screen of his laptop, making the final finishing touches of the “ _Gibberish_ ” remix for Maxx, Declan kneeling on a chair beside him, this own cherub face set with focus and determination, a hilarious mirror image of his father’s, as he finger-painted a sheet of paper with magic-mess-free paints.

When an unusual silence fell over the room at a lack of Pete’s continuation, he looked up from his screen over to where his husband’s voice had come from, finding Pete leaning casually against the doorway of their home office turned ‘Patrick’s-music-room’, grinning down at the screen of his phone, typing away.

“Please tell me you didn’t take a picture…”

“I’m not posting it, but I couldn’t resist—You and Declan had matching, concentrated ‘ _Genius at Work_ ’ look going on,” he explained with a shrug, smiling over at his best friend and husband, but honestly, Patrick wouldn’t put it past Pete.

Patrick playfully rolled his eyes before sneaking a glance over at his two year-old son, who in fact wasn’t at all fazed by the sudden appearance of his step-father. Instead, Declan was intently painting a line of green on his paper with his tongue sticking out in concentration ever so slightly…something Pete always teased Patrick about for _year_ s.

Patrick made a small mental note to ask Pete later to send the picture of his own mom for shits and giggles before looking back at the older man in the doorway.

"Did you get another tattoo?"

Pete shook his head, smiling slightly. Patrick then raised a fine brow, carefully wording his next guess.

"You didn't get anything pierced again do you?"

"That was one time, Trick," Pete mumbled with a roll of the eyes. Before the other could make another guess, Declan brought his hand up to cover his large yawn, eyes appearing droopy as both Pete and Patrick laughed fondly.

"Guess it's naptime for you, Buddy,” Patrick said as Pete nodded, moving from his spot in the doorway over the the chair the two-year old was occupying. “I’ll put him down, ‘Trick,” said Pete as he picked up the drowsy toddler, Declan already snuggling against his step-father’s shoulder.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, you finish up, Babe.”

“Okay,” he agreed, his heart melting at the sight of Declan nodding off in Pete’s arms. “I’m almost done, I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

Pete smiled over at his husband and turned, talking softly to Declan who replied just as quietly in return as they walked out of the music room. It’s been usually uneventful these last few days with just Declan in the house— Saint was spending the weekend with Meagan and should be returning in a few days, while Bronx was in Texas for the next week and a half with Ashlee, leaving their normally chaotic, bustling home of two toddler and a rambunctious 7 year old, unnervingly quiet with only Declan.

When Patrick was happy with the remix, he sent it off in an email, before saving another projects' progress and closing the laptop. Patrick made their way to the bedroom, entering to find Pete already sitting along the edge, quietly noting that he had yet to take off his beloved Chicago Bulls snapback.

"So what did you want to show me?" Patrick asked softly, watching as Pete on the edge of their bed, fiddling with his fingers. He begins to finger the brim of his hat seeming suddenly nervous and hesitant.

Patrick carefully puts hand on his shoulder before taking  off the cap, Pete's breath hitching as he did.

He runs his fingers gently over black and blonde braids following them to the nape of his husband’s neck. The singer smiles as he leans in to kiss the crown of his head, warm hands settling on his neck and shoulders. "It looks good Pete."

Pete bites his lip, looking up at his husband before him. "Really, you like 'em?" he asks tentatively.

"Yeah, they look awesome babe," he moves closer into the space between Pete's legs. "Do you like them? That's important too…" 

He nods, “I was a little scared getting them....well, mostly about how people would react to them..."

"Screw ‘em, your cornrows look great, have you shown your mom? She's been bugging you to get them for a while since you started bleaching your hair."

“Not yet, I was gonna Skype after I showed you,” He looks down for a moment, a bit of uncertainty in his whiskey-brown eyes, “You sure it looks okay?”

Patrick uses both his hands to curve over his cheeks, cradling his face between his palms, and Pete melted into his touch. The singer smiled gently, leaning down to capture the other man’s lips in a slow kiss, drawing it out gently—no heated passion in the action, simply pure, unadulterated and reassuring love.

Patrick is the first to break the kiss, gently biting at Pete’s bottom lip as he pulls away from the dark-haired bassist, letting his thumb caress his bottom lip in an almost unspoken apology, Patrick’s ocean blue eyes shining with adoration as Pete leans into one of his palms.

“It looks amazing. _You_ look amazing, babe.”

Later that afternoon, Patrick couldn’t help but smile when Dale Wentz’ first reaction at seeing her son appear on the laptop screen was a delighted squeal of “ _Baby, you look so good!”_

“Thanks Mom.”

 _“Oh my goodness…Finally you listen to me!,_ ” she laughs. _“It takes me back to when you were in high school and you grew out your cornrows into dreads...Pete, it looks so good!”_ Patrick watches in delight as Pete’s mom gushes over her son and his cornrows, all the while Pete flashes a mega-watt smile.

**_~//~_ **

"Why Papa have hair braids?" Asked Declan that evening during his bath, playing with a toy boat in the tub as Patrick lathered soap into his fine hair.

"Because Papa wanted them," Patrick responded easily, a quiet hum in his voice. Declan looked over at him with big wide eyes, curiously. "But why?"

"Because it's part of who Papa is."

"But girls have braids."

Patrick only smiled, bring a cup over Declan's head, shielding his eyes as he rinsed the soap from his hair. "Boys can have braids too. Papa had braids because it's part of his culture."

Declan seemed to process the words for a moment before looking back up at Patrick. "Daddy, what's cuul-chair? What that?'"

Patrick bit the inside of the cheek, looking pensively at his young son. How you explain culture and being bi-racial to a child, much less an inquisitive two year old?

"It's...It's because it's who Papa is, how he was raised. People born in different placed are raised differently. Kinda like how Grandma and Grandpa Yao are from the Philippines?" Declan nods in understanding smiling at the thought of his maternal grandparent. "Well, Saint's Grandma Dale is from a place called Jamaica...it's an island, just a different one than where Grandma and Grandpa Yao are from. And in Jamaica some people braid their hair...So Grandma Dale taught Papa because it's part of the culture and what people sometimes do or wear...it's like…umm...a tradition,” he supplies.

"Like Christmas?"

"Yeah, like how Ruby and Uncle Joe and Auntie Marie celebrate Hanukkah?" Declan nods eagerly. "That's part of their culture, everyone shows it differently. Papa sometimes shows it with his hair. "

Declan nods like that made perfect sense, and Patrick rinsed off, dried and dressed him in his pajamas for the night before Declan squeals when he catches sight of Pete sitting against the doorframe leading to the bathroom. He runs to hug him, wrapping his arms around his neck. “I love your cuul-chair braids, Daddy,” Declan exclaims, planting a kiss on his step-dad’s cheek.

“Thanks, baby boy.”  Pete replies as he sweeps Declan up into a hug.

"How long have you been sitting there," asks Patrick, a grin on his face as he tosses the towel into the hamper.

"Long enough," Pete says easily, his face soft with an unreadable expression, but there's a smile on his lips that absolutely melts Patrick heart in the best way possible.

"Thank you," Pete says softly, his smile big and warm. Then it hits Patrick—Pete's thanking him for teaching Declan, for explaining to him in the best way possible about why Pete did what he did to his hair…it's an intangible concept, but one that’s important that their children understand.

Patrick only smiles, leaning in to kiss Pete soundly as Declan wiggles his way out of Pete's arms.

**_~//~_ **

It’s less than forty-eight hours before then the Internet has to go and fucking ruin everything.

Patrick is causally scrolling through Instagram when he sees the comments.

His blood starts boiling at several of them... _many_ of them actually. Some calling Pete out on being rude and ignorant and culturally appropriating something that wasn’t _his_ , and _'how dare a white man take something that belongs to the African-American community and turn it into a fashion statement_ '

No. How _fucking_ dare _they._

It's some hours later that he notices Pete delete his Snapchat story, and then a picture on his Instagram. _Crap_...

As of late,Pete's hiding his hair under his snapback, under a beanie, his eyes low and dark, shoulders tense, carefully avoiding Patrick’s fingers whenever he would try to touch his hair, instead catching Patrick’s hands and kissing his knuckles gently before changing a subject.

It worried Patrick. Years of knowing each other, of being friend, of touring, of being together taught Patrick what to look for in Pete when he was getting low, when things were getting to him, when the static in his head was too loud to bear. Patrick saw it in the way his smile wouldn’t reach his eyes, in the way he looked both physically and mentally exhausted, and in the desperate way he embraced Declan, holding him in his lap as he played, almost as if the fair haired toddler was Pete’s only anchor. And more importantly, in the way he avoided looking at his phone, only doing so when necessary 

It worried him so damn much.

Patrick’s determined to talk to Pete that night, and finds him in their bathroom as soon as Declan is tucked in and sound asleep in his bed. Pete’s in front of the mirror, his teeth gritted together as he hurriedly tries to undo the braids starting at the nape of his neck. He’s getting frustrated, Patrick can tell from the way his hands shake and hurried movements turn desperate.

"Pete!" Patrick gasps, stunned for a split second before crossing over to his boyfriend, hands coming steadily over Pete's to try to ease his movements, to try to pacify the racing thoughts that Patrick can practically hear.

But Pete flinches out of his touch, much to Patrick's heartbreak. "Pete, don't do this, babe. You can't let some people's stupid comments get to you."

"Just fucking let me do what I want, okay?"

"Pete..."

" _No_ , you don't get it! I-I can't, okay? I’m tired of being criticized and ridiculed for every move I make! I hate that I can't fucking embrace my heritage, my fucking culture without getting attacked. They expect me to be a certain way, but I get shit for looking the way I do and no one fucking understands it!"

"Babe, I know, I get it. I know what it's like—”

“Getting shit for how much you weigh is different than this! Weight can change, I can’t change the fact that I’m half-Jamaican and I can’t even be _proud_ of it!”

There’s a flash of emotion that crosses Patrick’s face—hurt, anger, embarrassment, shock…And Pete sees it, and it makes him feel sick as he realizes what he said.

He just insinuated that all the hell Patrick had gotten for his weight before hiatus and during it had been something that was in his control, something he could have changed. He had just insinuated to Patrick that he backlash he got was his own fault…

 _Fuck_.

He’s expecting Patrick to storm out of the bathroom, to shove him, tell him he deserves all the shit he’s getting, to tell him he’s a pathetic excuse for a human being. Any moment now, Patrick’s going to walk out of his life with Declan on his hip and leave him with nothing but an empty house and with the static in his head…

He lets his face fall into his hands, his whole body trembling with frustration and anger . He’s fucked up, like he always does…Goddamnit why can’t he do anything right?

Suddenly, there are guitar calloused hands gently guiding him, moving him to rest his forehead against a strong steady shoulder. There’s a warm arm that wraps around his frame while fingers trace over black-blonde cornrows down to the nape of his neck and then back up, attempting to calm him.

“Hey, it’s okay…” Patrick soothes softly, no trace of malice or anger in his tone, his lips soft against his temple. “You’re right, this is different.” Pete tries to apologize for the words hurled at Patrick, to apologize for making Patrick’s past suffering seem small and insignificant to this own…

But the words aren’t coming out, no matter how hard he tries.

Patrick lets him shake and tremble against his shoulder before pulling away, cupping Pete’s face between his palms and touches his lips to his forehead in a tender kiss.

“Stay here, but don’t do anything okay? I’ll be back in a minute to help you.” A numb nod is all Patrick gets before leaving him in the quiet of bathroom, Patrick himself escaping into their bedroom. He rubs a hand over his face, gripping tightly at his hair. God, he wants to punch something.

He’s not mad at Pete, he knows what Pete said was in the heat of the moment and that he really didn’t mean for the words to come out as viciously as they did. Maybe it only validated something Patrick had always known, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it for long. Right now, he needed to focus on Pete.

He reaches for his phone, annoyed and fucking furious, and does something he hadn’t done in a while. Patrick doesn't even second guess himself as he opens his long forgotten Twitter account, typing away, venting his frustration in a way he usually does in the safety of his notes app, something he’s learned to use to cope with his frustrations. But right now, he feels the need to tell off the internet, not that it would do much, but he felt the need to let them have it.

He's usually good about keeping away from the Twitter drama, hell, he wasn't one to dabble on social media at all for that matter, Pete does enough of that for the both of them. However, this wasn't something he could easily sweep under the rug, to stand quietly on the side and watch Pete take it.

_“It takes a lot for me to get upset, it really does, but this just takes the cake...to attack someone for something so blatantly stupid to the point that they feel so self-conscious about their every move makes me sick... I know it’s not everyone doing this but sad to say that it's those few rotten apples that spoil the whole fucking bunch...Think before you comment or do your fucking research before you say shit.”_

_#PeteWentzisBiracal #dealwithit_

He sends off his twitter rant without so much as a second thought, turning it to vibrate with a huff. Exiting out of the application, he looks for a certain contact and calls the one person who might know what to do in a situation like this. The one person Pete had gone to, other than Patrick, all those years ago when the infamous dick-pick circulated on the web. The person who knew Pete better than anyone…

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Hey Dale.”

“ _Patrick!_ ” Pete’s mom had greeted, despite the time of night. “ _How’s everything going_?”

Patrick sighed, walking out of the bedroom into the hallway, away from Pete’s hearing. “Not too good, honestly…”

Patrick explained to Dale what happened, the backlash, the comments, Pete’s mood shutting down, and how he found him practically wanting to rip out his cornrows…

 _“You’d think in this day and age, people would stop being so ignorant,”_ she sighed, sadness clearly tinged in her words.

“I know…I-I just didn’t know what to do, I figured maybe you could give me some advice…I-” he stopped, squeezing his eyes shut before starting again. “I don’t want him to change his hair, it’s him. It’s part of him, part of who he is, and he was so proud of it Dale…but right now he’s so miserable…”

 _“I know, Sweetie. But, unfortunately, this has always been something Pete’s struggled with, ever since high school. It’s always been harder for him to freely embrace his roots, and while I’m so proud of him for doing it, if he wants them out, then let him,”_ she explains sadly. _“Just…it would be better to help him so he doesn’t overly damage his hair, use some castor oil too when you’re braiding them out, I know he has some…”_ Dale walked him step- by- step through the process and it seemed simple enough for Patrick could manage. _“Give him a big hug and a kiss for me,”_ she said finally. “ _His roots have always been a sensitive spot for him, so when someone hits that, he’s always felt that they’re attacking the core of who he is. As much as I wanted to, I could never protect him from idiots who would call him out about it,_ ” there was another sigh, this one tired, somewhat frustrated. _“Even now that he’s a grown man, it hurts me that comments still get to him…Just…love on him, Patrick. He’s going to need a lot of that.”_

“I will. Thank you Dale, I just wanted to make sure I was doing to the right thing.”

“ _Sweetie, just loving Pete the way you do is the right thing._ ”

Patrick smiles a little, his cheeks warming with a blush before saying his goodbyes to Pete’s mom over the phone. He knows what he has to do…

He makes his way back to the bathroom and finds Pete staring at himself in the mirror, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced than Patrick could last recall, the way his eyes looks duller than their usually warm whiskey.

Patrick knows the signs of Pete’s lows all too well. Despite their frivolous arguments, their jest-filled stories during interviews, and even their time apart during the hiatus, they could read each other like books. They knew what each other was thinking even when the other didn’t.  They knew each other’s lows like the back of their hand.

Pete didn’t seem to hear him come him, still slumped over the counter, hands gripping the edge tightly, seemingly lost in the void of static thoughts in his head.

“Hey…,” Patrick muttered coming up behind the bassist, wrapping his arms low around his waist as he molded himself against the warmth of his back. “Come back to me, baby…” he coaxed, kissing his shoulder and working his lips up neck.

Pete jolts a little, as if awoken out of a trace. He blinks his eyes, trying to focus on the present, but Patrick could see they were still hazy, still lost in the darkest corner of his mind, a place Pete has often talked to Patrick about. The tempting corning of his psyche that he’s been trying to avoid after spending what felt like an eternity there during the hiatus…

 _“I can’t describe it, Trick.”_ Pete had explained to him one night _. “It’s like, the safest place I know, but at the same time, I know it'll kill me…It’s like a blanket of roses littered with thorns, and even though the petals are soft and inviting, the thorns are still there, digging into you, killing you, but you don’t want to let go…You can’t let go because everything outside is scary…but living in that blanket is the scariest because eventually, it’ll kill you and you’ll unconsciously let it…It’s addictive.”_  

Patrick has a feeling Pete’s thinking about cloaking himself in that blanket right now…

“Pete?” He meets his eyes through the mirror, looking haggard. “Are you with me?” Pete simply nods, reaching down to lace one of his fingers with Patrick’s, squeezing them tightly as a form of reassurance. Patrick smiles warmly, delivering another kiss to his shoulder before speaking. “Do you want me to help you with your hair?”

“You’re not mad?” his whisper loud in the quiet of their bathroom.

Pete’s eyes are wide with surprise, but the emotion is dulled and Patrick thinks that above everything, _that’s_ what hurts the most. That the comments and the hate hit Pete harder than anything even though he tries to pretend it doesn't. But they both know it does-- he’s crawling back into his shell, back to the Pete Wentz of years past, scared and cornered, back when he was a prisoner to his own mind but a darling for the camera and for their fans. Pete could act better than any one of them, but behind the scenes, on his low days, Pete would spend days curled in his bunk, angry, drunk, sobbing…

Patrick didn’t want Pete to pretend again, he doesn't want Pete to hide behind his megawatt smile, behind his carefree demeanor, not when he has been doing so good for the last four years…he doesn’t want Pete to hide anymore.

Patrick wants to world to see Pete for who he is—a loving husband, a caring friend, an amazing father and step-father to their kids, but above all a beautiful human being with a heart of gold.

“No, I’m not mad, Pete.” he reassures him, catching his gaze in the mirror above the skin, letting a hand trail up from above where his bartskull was inked onto his skin to rest over his heart. “I just want to help you, if you’ll let me…”

Pete’s eyes fall shut as he lets out another sigh, his shoulders sagging before he whispers out a nearly inaudible ‘please’.

The singer behind him nods. “Okay,” Patrick hooks his chin over Pete’s shoulder as he speaks. “I just want you to know that you’re absolutely beautiful and perfect the way you are…I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“Fuck- ups and all?” he interjects, mockery and disdain in his voice, but Patrick only holds him tighter, kisses his shoulder once more, much like Pete had done so many times in the past in the quiet of their bunks.

“Yes, especially the fuck- ups…you’re so fucking beautiful, I wish you and the world could see it. I wish you didn’t have to change to please people, but if it help make you feel better, I’ll help you.”

Another nod, and Patrick gently leads Pete to sit on the covered toilet, following Dale’s instructions to the tee, gently braiding out his hair with sure fingers, at times massaging unraveled sections of his scalp or kneading some of the tension out of his neck and shoulders, Pete unusually quiet through the entire process.

When Pete’s cornrows were all braided out, his hair looked just as worn as Pete's spirit and Patrick managed to get him into the shower, massaging his scalp gently, while kissing any part of Pete that he could, his neck, his cheeks, his eyes, his lips.

Dry and warm, they crawl into bed where hands slide across skin, fingers exploring and soothing, lighting each other on fire. Patrick fucks into Pete gently, skin sliding against skin, fingers intertwined as Pete arches his back with a low moan when Patrick hits his prostate. Patrick caresses Pete’s body with as much care he can muster, every touch of his hand to Pete’s body filled with reassuring love, the intoxicating contrast of cream and honey against white sheets. Patrick could see the light ebbing it’s way back into Pete’s eyes at every ' _you’re beautiful’_ he whispers into his skin; he wants Pete to believe it with every fiber of his being, he wants to ink it into his soul, to make and remind Pete to feel as beautiful as he looks, especially now—miles of damp, warm tan skin, littered with intricate shades of ink, withering and panting on ivory sheets.

“You’re so beautiful, Pete,” Patrick groans into his ear, feeling the beginnings of his orgasm building up in, thrusting harder into the body below him. “Say it, baby,” he whispers breathlessly, never losing his tempo as he caresses his cheek. “Look at me, babe.” Lust- hazed honey brown meets ocean blue-green, and Patrick swear he could get lost in them. “Say it, Pete..”

Pete doesn’t tear his eyes away from Patrick, even as the pleasure becomes too much for him to bear under Patrick’s heated stare. “I…I’m—” He comes with a choked- off moan, hands reaching out to grasp at any part of Patrick he could find, his shoulder, his bicep, riding out his orgasm, tears falling freely from his eyes as Patrick follows closely behind, groaning loudly into his shoulder at his release, collapsing beside Pete once he’s carefully pulled out.

“I’m...I’m beautiful…” Pete whispers shakily, his body exhausted and spent. The tears continue to fall silently from his eyes as he leans heavily into Patrick’s side, sleep and exhaustion already beckoning him.

“Yes, yes you are. You _always_ are…” Patrick breathes, wiping away the tears that fall from his best friend’s eyes, before kissing him with a sense of finality, leaving no room for argument; Patrick wants Pete to _believe_ it more than anything.

Pete curls into Patrick’s side and falls into a deep sleep, leaving the other to clean them up as best as he could, redressing Pete into a clean set of boxers and some well-worn basketball shorts that Pete loved to sleep in.

When Patrick himself is dressed and returns to bed sitting up against the headboard, Pete automatically seeks him out, even in the depths of sleep, curling a fist into Patrick’s shirt and snuggling into his soft stomach. Patrick smiles as he runs his guitar calloused fingers through his hair before picking up his phone, raising a single eyebrow as the abnormally large number of notifications from Twitter.

Curiosity gets the best of him as he scans through the hundreds, if not thousands of notifications, many of them shocked that Patrick had briefly returned to social media, others concerned about Pete, even others coming to Pete’s defense over the whole backlash fiasco. Patrick’s also pleasantly surprised to see that ‘ _PeteWentzisBiracial_ ’ was actually on the trending list.

But the damage was done and Pete, for the sake of escaping any more backlash, any more hate and grief, had undone a part of himself. Patrick desperately hopes the encouragement will keep him together, assholes be damned.

He silences his phone and lays down, bringing Pete close to his body, enveloping him in the warmth and safety of his arms. For now, they could forget about social media, they could forget about the hateful words, the ignorance of the world outside their house, their bedroom, their bed…

Right now, with Pete safely in his arms, feeling his heartbeat against his own skin, Patrick builds a little fortress of safety and love and acceptance and cocoons his husband in it until the morning.

**_~//~_ **

Things are a little smoother the next morning.

Pete’s still not one hundred percent, but his eyes are less hazy and more present, but Patrick still catches the way his eyes dim when he runs his fingers through his hair. His heart aches when he does see it, but Pete tries not to dwell. Keyword: _tries_.

Declan is awake as well, Pete keeping him entertained as Patrick works on pancakes in the kitchen. Declan plays happily with Pete, his step-father blowing raspberries on his tummy, making the two-year old squeal and giggle with joy.

When the pancakes are done and Pete’s helping Declan into his chair, Patrick catches the way Declan’s face scrunches up in confusion at Pete’s hair as he cuts up his pancake into smaller pieces. Patrick has an ‘ _a-ha_ ’ moment, thinking ‘ _So that’s what I look like when I’m confused as fuck_ ’ but then another immediate thought jumps forward, more worried than anything. _‘Please don’t say anything Declan_ …’  Patrick’s not sure if he could properly explain to him why Pete’s braids are missing…or if Pete was up to Declan’s thousands questions.

Luckily, Declan either chooses not say a word or completely forgets once Pete asks if he wants syrup on his pancakes, to which his eyes light up ever so brightly. “Yeah, Papa, lots of syrup!”

When breakfast is over, Pete gets a call from Meagan that she’s on her way to drop off Saint. Patrick leads Declan, who’s covered in syrup thanks to Pete, _(‘Pete, that’s too much syrup.’_ Patrick had murmured, to which Pete replied, _‘Babe, there’s NEVER enough syrup’)_ to change in something less sticky. When in his room Declan finally asks Patrick what’s been on his inquisitive two-year old mind.

“Daddy…Why Papa sad?”

Okay…that’s not what Patrick thought was going to happen… Patrick was expecting questions about Pete’s braids, not ‘ _Why Papa sad_ ’.

Surprised, Patrick freezes in his motion to grab a clean shirt and short set from the dresser and turns to Declan. “Huh?”

“Papa sad…Why Papa sad?”

“How do you know Papa’s sad, buddy?” he asks, to which Declan shyly shrugs, before he points to his eyes. “His eyes sad.” And crap, Declan apparently inherited Elisa’s perceptiveness, which is both a blessing and a curse…

Struggling to find a kid-friendly explanation, Patrick sighs, seeing no good in sugar coating it, not when Declan can see right through Pete like he can, only it took Patrick a few years to figure it out, and Declan’s only two…

“Papa sad because of no braids?” he asks innocently.

Patrick only nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Why Papa have no braids no more?”

“Because,” Patrick says, as he smooths out some of Declan’s hair. “Because Papa wanted them out…and people were being mean…” He hesitated adding the last part, knowing Declan would continue to question.

“But Papa’s hair looked pretty. Why people say mean things?"

 _Because people are assholes, Declan, I don’t know how else to explain it to you, truthfully…_ he almost says, but bites his lip, thinking hard. “Because…sometimes people don’t know it’s part of his culture and they get mean…So Papa took them out to make people happy again.”

And the look on Declan’s face was enough to make Patrick want to cry just a bit. “But…Papa’s sad now…”

“Yeah,” he replies sadly, tugging the shirt over Declan’s head. “But we can help cheer Papa up.”

“With hugs and kisses?”

“With hugs and kisses,” he reassures his son.

Declan doesn’t question it anymore after that, seeming content with his answers, and leaving Patrick to really think about how smart and perceptive his son was, and to call Elisa ASAP and let her know that even though Declan is a practical carbon copy of Patrick, she’s definitely in there.

Dressed and clean, Declan and Patrick make their way back to the living room to find that Saint has just arrived, babbling to Pete about his Momma’s new puppy, before running to look over at the toy bin in the living room. Declan gasps with delight at the sight of his step-brother, but before he joins Saint, he runs towards Pete, who was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the bottom of the sofa, Pete catches a flash of light brown-blond hair barreling towards him and envelops Declan in a hug. The fair-haired toddler then proceeds to wiggle free from his embrace to climb up Pete’s shoulder to kiss the crown of his head, mimicking what he’s seen his own father do several times before.

Patrick watches as Pete goes stock still for a moment at Declan’s actions, but then melts back into another hug from the two-year old. “Love you, Papa,” Declan says into Pete’s neck when he embraces him again.

“Love you too, baby boy…I love you so much..”

Declan only smiles in return before running over to hug Saint, both boys talking and babbling rapidly and chattering away, catching up as they pull out a bucket of blocks from one of the shelves in the entertainment center below the TV.

Pete smiling, his eyes glassy with tears as Patrick joins him on the floor, kissing his husband soundly. “Hey, Beautiful,” he whispers against his lips, brushing away a stray tear from Pete’s cheek.

“Your son is just as amazing as you, I swear..” he breathes, shaking his head, his eyes glowing a little brighter as he tucks himself in the crook of Patrick’s neck.

Patrick chuckles, kissing his head as he wraps an arm around his shoulder. “He loves you. _We_ love you, just the way you are.”

Pete simply nods, something warm igniting in his chest, like a ember turning into a flame as he’s cocooned in the safety and peace that is Patrick’s arms as they watch their sons play.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is beta'd the amazing [Flame_and_Jade](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade), who also continues to inspire and cheerlead me to continue with not only this fic, but several of my stories! 
> 
> The title is from Alessia Cara's "Scars to Your Beautiful".
> 
> Idk, this has been sitting in my WIP folder for a while now, but didn't get back to it until I was scrolling through tumblr and came across the selfie that Pete had deleted from his Instagram when it all happened, and honestly, the whole situation just made me upset that people continue to be such bullies and give others (not just celebrities) so much grief.
> 
> Anyways, Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! More stuff is in the works, but I'm so slow to update, so huge thanks to those that bear with me, it means the world to me in ways you don't understand. 
> 
> -Xoxo
> 
> (Fun fact: The Infinity on High Vinyl is _SOOO PRETTYY!!!_ I got my blue and white splatter vinyl in the mail today and it's been spinning since I've opened it lol )


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